But Lord Frederick was not paying any attention. He ate slowly, his eyes on his plate, his mind obviously elsewhere.
Lord Vere went on about udders and teats, his gaze fixed to her torso. In his enthusiasm he dropped two forks and a spoon, overturned his teacup, and finally caused a fried egg to land directly onto his own lap, at which point he jumped up, loudly upending his chair. The egg on his trousers flopped to the floor, but not before leaving behind a perfect round of sticky yellow yolk just where no one ought to look.
The commotion finally brought Lord Frederick out of his reverie. “Penny, what the—”
“Oh, dear,” said Elissande. “You’d best change fast, my lord, if you don’t want your good clothes ruined.”
For once, Lord Vere did the sensible thing and departed. Elissande slowly unclenched her hands underneath the table. It was, however, another few seconds before she could master herself enough to smile at Lord Frederick.
“And how are you this morning, sir?”
* * *
The breakfast tray in his room and the lack of one in Freddie’s told Vere everything he needed to know: Miss Edgerton had meant to have breakfast with Freddie, just the two of them.
He could not fault her taste: Freddie was the best of men. She with her plentiful smiles and scheming ways, however, was not remotely worthy of Freddie. But let her try. He would thwart, foil, and destroy every last one of her plots.
But for now he needed to speak to Lady Kingsley. He slipped a note under her door. She met him five minutes later at the turning of the grand staircase, from which point no one could approach them unobserved.
“I’ve asked Holbrook for Nye,” said Vere.
Nye was a safecracker. After Vere had left Mrs. Douglas’s room, he’d changed, written a seemingly rambling note that Holbrook would know how to decode, and walked into the village just in time for the telegraph office to open. On his way back he’d caught a ride on a hay wagon and laid his head down for a pleasant nap after a sleepless night, arriving at Highgate Court as Freddie came downstairs for breakfast.
“Where is the safe? And you still have straw in your hair.”
“In Mrs. Douglas’s room, behind the dead-man painting,” said Vere, running his fingers through his hair. “Do you have the servants’ movements?”
“They don’t go into Mrs. Douglas’s room unless called for. Twice a week Miss Edgerton puts her in a wheelchair and walks her up and down the passage. That’s when the servants go in to clean and change the bedding and so on. Otherwise only Miss Edgerton—and I imagine Douglas himself—enters the room.”
“In that case, Nye can start working as soon as Miss Edgerton comes down for dinner.”
Lady Kingsley glanced up and waved at her niece, who returned her wave before disappearing down the passage, probably to visit one of her friends. “How long will he need?”
“He has opened a combination-lock safe in as little as half an hour. But that was when he could drill. Here he cannot drill.”
Lady Kingsley frowned. “Last night when the ladies retired, Miss Edgerton went to Mrs. Douglas’s room before she went to her own.”
“We must make sure then she doesn’t retire so early tonight.”
“We’ll do that,” said Lady Kingsley. “And I can invent a reason to keep her with me for a while even after the ladies retire, but not for too long.”
Miss Kingsley reappeared at the top of the stairs. “Lord Vere, could I borrow my aunt a moment? Miss Melbourne simply can’t decide what to wear today.”
“You do what you can and I will take care of the rest,” Vere said with just enough volume for Lady Kingsley to hear. Then he raised his voice. “Of course you may have her, Miss Kingsley. Here, she is all yours, with my compliments.”
* * *
It was a good talk, about the places in London and the surrounding countryside where Lord Frederick liked to paint. But it was not an exciting conversation. Not that Elissande was overly familiar with exciting conversations, but still she felt the missing spark.
Lord Frederick did not look at her as if he were a hungry head of cattle and she a fresh, fragrant bale of hay—and goodness, why was she thinking in terms of animal husbandry when she’d never done so in her whole life? Lord Frederick was polite and obliging, but he betrayed no sign of a preference for Elissande.
She blamed it all on Lord Vere, especially when he returned much too soon, still wearing the same egg-stained garments. His endless discourse on mutton sheep must have drained all life and verve from Lord Frederick, who’d had to listen to him for God only knew how many thousands upon thousands of hours over a lifetime.
“Penny, you forgot to change your trousers,” Lord Frederick pointed out.
“So that’s what!” Lord Vere cried. “I got up to my room and for the life of me I couldn’t remember why I went. Bother.”
Idiot!
“Perhaps you should give it another try?” Elissande suggested, curving her lips and wishing that smiles were arrows. Lord Vere would be more perforated than St. Sebastian.
“Oh, no use now. I’ll just forget again,” Lord Vere dismissed her idea breezily. “I might as well wait until I change for the shooting. And how is the shooting here, by the by, Miss Edgerton?”
Was he looking at her bosom again? His eyes certainly did not meet hers. “I’m afraid we don’t keep a game park, sir.”
His eyes remained precisely where they were. “No? Hmm, I suppose we shall have to play tennis.”
“I’m sorry, but we lack a tennis court also.”
“How about archery? I’m not so terrible as an archer.”
Beside him Lord Frederick squirmed.
“With my aunt’s health and my uncle’s consideration of it, we do not have anything that would produce noise or excitement about. Perhaps you’d like to go for a walk instead, my lord?”
“I already went for a walk before breakfast—do you not remember, Miss Edgerton? I suppose I could settle for a game of croquet instead.”
How did he do that? How did he carry on a conversation with her while his eyeballs were firmly ensconced between her breasts?
“I apologize. We do not have the necessary equipment for croquet.”
“Well,” said Lord Vere, finally exasperated enough to return his gaze to her face. “What is it you do around here then, Miss Edgerton?”
She sent him a smile that should have damaged his vision. “I look after my aunt, sir.”
“That is exceedingly admirable, but unbearably tedious, is it not, with no amusements nearby whatsoever?”
She managed to sustain her smile but not without putting some effort into it. How he irked her, like a rock in her shoe.
“Tedium does not enter into it at a—”
She stopped. The dreaded sound: a carriage arriving. “Excuse me,” she said, rising.
“Are you expecting someone?” Lord Vere followed her to the window.
She said nothing, wordless with relief. It was not her uncle. She did not recognize the carriage. She also did not recognize the middle-aged, sharp-featured woman in a blue traveling dress who exited the carriage.
“Is that not Lady Avery, Freddie?” said Lord Vere.
Lord Frederick came swiftly to the window. Lord Vere yielded his place.
“What is she doing here?” Lord Frederick growled. He swore under his breath, then remembered himself and turned to Elissande. “I beg your pardon, Miss Edgerton. I did not mean to speak so rudely of your caller.”
What a perfect gentleman he was. “You may speak as rudely of her as you wish, sir. I assure you I have never met this particular caller.”
“Oh, look. She has brought luggage,” said Lord Vere, unperturbed. “Think she’s come to stay?”
Lord Frederick smacked his palm against the windowsill, then again begged Elissande’s pardon.
“It’s quite all right,” said Elissande. “But who is she?”
Chapter Six
Lady Avery was a Gossip.
/> Elissande was not entirely unfamiliar with the idea of a gossip: Mrs. Webster in the village had been one, carrying on about the butcher’s wife or the vicar’s new gardener. But Lady Avery regarded herself quite above such provincial rumormongers as Mrs. Webster: She was a woman of the world with entrée to the very best Society.
With her arrival, Lord Frederick promptly disappeared. To Elissande’s mounting despair.
To be sure, she had begun to despair even before Lady Avery’s unannounced arrival: Lord Frederick was in no rush to appropriate her hand, while her time, already as limited as Lord Vere’s intelligence, shrank second by rapid second.
Lady Avery did not help matters by immediately setting out to grill Elissande on the provenance of the Douglases, and refusing to believe that Elissande in truth knew nothing of her uncle’s origins and only a little more of her aunt’s.
“The West Cheshire Douglases?” Lady Avery asked. “Surely you must be related to the West Cheshire Douglases.”
Was Lady Avery a student of Lord Vere’s particular school of genealogical exploration?
“No, ma’am. I’ve never heard of them.”
Lady Avery harrumphed. “Most irregular. Who are your family then? The Edgertons of Derbyshire?”
Well, at least this she did know. “The Edgertons of Cumberland, ma’am.”
Lady Avery’s brows knitted. “The Edgertons of Cumberland. The Edgertons of Cumberland,” she mumbled. Then, triumphantly, she cried, “You are the late Sir Cecil Edgerton’s granddaughter, aren’t you? By his youngest son?”
Elissande stared at her in shock. She’d believed Lady Avery’s expertise in gossip to be about as valid as Lord Vere’s knowledge of animal husbandry. “Sir Cecil was my grandfather, yes.”
“Ah, I thought so,” said Lady Avery, satisfied. “Quite the scandal when your father ran off with your mother. And such an unhappy end, both of them dead within three years.”
Lady Kingsley, Miss Kingsley, and Miss Beauchamp entered the drawing room. Elissande was suddenly as alarmed as Lord Frederick must have been. Her parents’ story had not only been tragic, but also not fit for polite company, as her uncle had repeatedly impressed upon her. What if Lady Avery decided to disclose the less savory details to everyone present?
“Lord Vere says you frightened his brother away, Lady Avery,” Miss Kingsley called out cheerfully.
“Nonsense. I’ve already extracted everything out of Lord Frederick during the Season. He has nothing to fear from me at the present.”
Miss Beauchamp sat down next to Lady Avery. “Oh, do tell, dear lady. What did you extract from Lord Frederick?”
“Well…” Lady Avery drew out that syllable for a good three seconds, obviously relishing her role as the dispenser of juicy tidbits. “He did see her in June, when she was in town to marry off that American heiress, Miss Van der Waals. And you would not believe this, but they have also met in Paris, in Nice, and in New York.”
Everyone looked shocked, including, Elissande imagined, herself. Who was this “she”?
“They have?” Lady Kingsley exclaimed. “What does Lord Tremaine think of it?”
“Well, apparently he approves. The two men have dined together.”
Lady Kingsley shook her head. “My goodness, will wonders never cease?”
“No indeed. I asked Lord Frederick if she looked well and he asked me when had she ever not looked well.”
“Oh, my!” Miss Beauchamp squealed.
Please let it not be. “Does Lord Frederick have an understanding with someone?” Elissande ventured to ask.
“My apologies, I forgot you do not know, Miss Edgerton. Lord Frederick did have an understanding with the Marchioness of Tremaine. And in the spring of ’ninety-three, she was prepared to divorce her husband for him. It was going to be quite the scandal, but the divorce never took place. She reconciled with her husband and withdrew her petition.”
“Poor Lord Frederick.” Miss Kingsley sighed.
“No, lucky Lord Frederick,” Lady Avery corrected her. “Now he can marry a nice young lady like Miss Edgerton here, instead of someone who would forever be referred to as ‘that divorced woman.’ Don’t you agree, Miss Edgerton?”
“I don’t think Lord Frederick has any plans to marry me,” Elissande answered with, alas, no false modesty whatsoever. “But I do, on the whole, believe that it is more…convenient not to have a divorce in one’s spouse’s past.”
“Excellent,” said Lady Avery. “My dear Miss Edgerton, you understand the essence of the issue. One must not be a romantic in this life. Look at the cynics; they were all once romantics.”
“Is—is Lord Frederick now a cynic?”
“No, bless him, he is still a romantic, would you believe it. I suppose not every disappointed romantic turns into a cynic.”
Such a good man, Lord Frederick. If only Elissande could entice him to ask for her hand, she’d love him so much better than that faithless Lady Tremaine.
In fact, she would be the best wife in the history of matrimony.
* * *
Vere needed to be at the house. But when Freddie came to him, wanting some company, he could not refuse. They walked for miles in the country, rowed on one of the meres that dotted the very northern tip of Shropshire, and took their luncheon at the village inn.
“I’m going back,” Vere said at the end of the luncheon, rising from the table and yawning. He must know what instructions Holbrook had sent and coordinate with Lady Kingsley on getting Nye into and out of the house. “I need a nap. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Nightmares?” Freddie rose too and fell in step beside Vere.
“No, I don’t get them so often anymore.” In his last year at Eton, Freddie had to come into Vere’s room almost every night to shake him awake. “Anyway, you stay here if you’d like. I’ll hire the inn’s carriage to take me back.”
“I’ll come with you,” Freddie said quietly.
Vere experienced another stab of guilt. Freddie no doubt wished to stay away for the rest of the day—Lady Tremaine was ancient history, yet Lady Avery still pounced upon him as if he’d freshly waltzed with Scandal. But Freddie had also made it a point always to accompany Vere whenever they were out somewhere unfamiliar.
Vere briefly clasped his hand on Freddie’s shoulder. “Come along then.”
Back at the house, Vere found Lady Kingsley waiting impatiently for him. Nye would be arriving shortly before the start of dinner. They agreed that Vere would let him in through the doors that led from the library to a terrace on the east side of the house—the side away from the kitchen, and therefore less likely to be seen by the servants.
“And what do we do after I must relinquish Miss Edgerton at night, if Nye is still not finished?” asked Lady Kingsley.
“I’ll think of something.”
“Make sure it’s not something you’ll regret,” said Lady Kingsley.
Twenty-four hours had yet to pass since he first laid eyes on Miss Edgerton. Little wonder then the memory of his infatuation was fresh in Lady Kingsley’s mind. Yet it already seemed impossibly distant to Vere, a time of long-ago innocence.
“I’ll be mindful,” he said coolly.
Knowing Miss Edgerton’s aim, as soon as he concluded his tête-à-tête with Lady Kingsley, he looked for his brother. He found Freddie—and Miss Edgerton—in the otherwise empty dining room, Freddie gazing into his No. 4 Kodak camera, Miss Edgerton, in a most becoming day dress of pale apricot, gazing adoringly at Freddie.
The ardor in her eyes cooled considerably as she noted Vere’s presence. “Lord Vere.”
Vere ignored the caustic sensation in his heart. “Miss Edgerton. Freddie.”
Freddie pulled up the brass button on top of the box camera to cock the shutter. “Hullo, Penny. How was your nap? It’s only been”—he glanced at the clock—“three quarters of an hour.”
“My nap was superb. What are you doing?”
“Taking some photographs of this painting
. Miss Edgerton was kind enough to grant me permission.”
“Be churlish for Miss Edgerton to refuse you, wouldn’t it?” Vere smiled at her.
She smiled back at him, her expression as sunny as his. “It most certainly would be. Besides, I’ve never seen a camera before.”
“I’ve seen tons of them. And they all do exactly the same thing,” he said dismissively. “By the way, Miss Edgerton, Miss Kingsley said the ladies would like you to join them for a turn in the garden.”
“Oh,” she said. “Are you sure, Lord Vere?”
“Of course. I saw her not three minutes ago in the rose parlor.”
He had seen Miss Kingsley less than three minutes ago in the rose parlor. Miss Kingsley, however, had been engaged in a game of backgammon with Conrad, her admirer—and had no intention of going anywhere. But by the time Miss Edgerton realized this, it would be too late; Vere would have whisked Freddie someplace safe—safer, at least—from her calculating grasp.
“And she was quite keen on your company,” Vere added.
“I suppose I’d best go see her then,” said Miss Edgerton reluctantly. “Thank you, Lord Vere. Excuse me, Lord Frederick.”
Vere watched her. At the door she looked back. But Freddie was already busy with his next snapshot. Instead her eyes met Vere’s. He made sure his gaze shifted obviously to her breasts. She left quickly after that.
He turned his attention back to Freddie. “Fancy a game of snooker, old chap?”
* * *
Of course Lord Vere was wrong. Of course.
Miss Kingsley and Mr. Conrad, both chortling, told Elissande not to worry. Perhaps it was someone else who had asked Lord Vere to convey a message, and Lord Vere, with his slightly inaccurate memory—a most charitable turn of phrase—had made mistakes concerning both the originator and the recipient of the message.
Miss Kingsley even kindly rose and offered to take a turn in the garden with Elissande, if she was still in the mood for it. Elissande, who had never been in the mood for it, thanked Miss Kingsley profusely and begged that she and Mr. Conrad forgive her interruption and continue to enjoy their game.
His At Night Page 6